The fiscal collapse of 2008 exacerbated a malaise for many of us in colleges and universities. We feel besieged from within and without, as the public seems to have turned against us. Texas A&M University now has done a thorough cost accounting, publicly valuing all faculty in terms of productivity. All over, public spending for higher education is being cut to the bone. There is a revolt against the high tuition at many private universities. And there is the spate of recent books from a cadre of academics themselves who blame the academy for failing in its mission.
Mark Taylor, Andrew Hacker and the recently published book entitled Academically Adrift have held up a magical mirror showing higher education’s dysfunctional present and a dystopian and unsustainable future, one where students don’t learn, more education takes place online than face-to-face, tenure does not exist and many small, private universities and colleges are gone. The journalist Anya Kamenetz goes one further in her recent book, DIY U: Edupunks, Edupreneurs and the Coming Transformation of Higher Education, when she argues that the university as we know it is obsolete, as a generation of “edupunks” educate themselves.
Under this level of bristling assault, it is easy for academics to bury our heads in the proverbial sand. We have already begun the long slog through the academic year, as our shoulders are against the proverbial wheel. The rhythm of the academic calendar tells us we can't relax until we make it through the academic year. We no longer have the luxury to wait until summer to recharge and rethink how we make ourselves relevant in a world that seems to no longer respect college.
This crisis is nowhere more marked than in the liberal arts, as we feel particularly vulnerable to market forces and often feel disconnected from social engagement. Some of this is the result of students flocking to majors that they feel offer job opportunities after graduation: business, health-related fields, some of the sciences, technologies, etc. They are not rushing to major in sociology or history. This has caused many of us in the traditional liberal arts to become increasingly defensive and too often derisive of what we label “vocational education.”
We cannot and should not hold our noses or draw lines in the sand because it is a losing battle. We should use the moment to reinvent what we do and reconnect us to the world. We are searching for models that will make us relevant, make sense to the public in this political and economic reality, and better serve our students. And for some of us, this reality has turned us to the past, where we may feel we got things right and had a sense of place. In uncertain times, the past offers some us comfort. Yes, one has to just read the memoirs or biographies of the great academics of the 20th century to realize the past is indeed a foreign land. Some of us might make it to superstar status and enjoy this lost rarified world. Most of us, however, will need to soldier on.
We find ourselves in anxious times because everything we value is now questioned and challenged. This intense scrutiny has caused a crisis of identity for the humanities and social sciences, as more and more the public asks us to justify not just the costs of a liberal arts education but its ultimate value. So we need to truly examine and explain the value of a liberal arts degree and search for ways to become relevant again. We can no longer just say, in a sense, take it because it is good for you and society, as if the liberal arts were some sort of foul medicine that we needed to take but needn't like.
We know this is not the case, but in a market place where families are investing a small fortune for their children's college education, we have to show a tangible return -- by rooting programs in the real world they become more relevant. We need to finally ask who are we in today’s crowded and ever-changing higher education marketplace? How can we get students, employers, legislatures and others to see see the liberal arts are not a luxury, but a true necessity? We need to stop telling and start showing. In short, we need to model a new knowledge creation process. We need to live it.
I would suggest that we are witnessing a moment in the history of higher education where what we do now will matter intensely for the future.
This is a moment of formation and transformation, where everything seems to be on the table. Some argue that one model for our salvation might lie, in part, in the past, or the particular example of some golden age, as most of the recent books on the crisis in higher education look romantically at the last 50 years as a sort of last hurrah for a sort of education they saw as ideal in many ways.
This is not the time for us to get dewy-eyed over what is being lost. We need to be pragmatic and embrace the new reality, challenges and all, and find a way forward. This is the exact moment we need to end any notions of the university or college as a protected or safe intellectual zone, one separated from the world. We need to embrace the world we inhabit, with all its complex social problems, and break down what are by now artificial barriers between colleges and universities and the wider world.
Michael Crow, the president at Arizona State University, has challenged all of us to make the “university … more than a place.” Crow argues that the university needs to be a “force” for change in the world. Maybe many of our campuses can’t change the world, but they can engage their communities. Imagine if each of our institutions became a force for change locally. The collective effort could reverberate loudly, providing both support and the tools for a better world. But it could also win over legions of fans who see tangible value from the local college. And, all evidence shows, engaged learning is higher learning. So our students benefit, too.
The current crop of critics are right that we need to rethink our mission, and I applaud them for recognizing the need for change.
Universities need to find ways to foster critical introspection and intellectual growth in the midst of a rapidly changing world. But hasn’t that always been the case? Universities are not stagnant institutions. Rather they are organic, breathing in society problems and all. Evidence from Imagining America, Campus Compact, and Project Pericles, among others, suggests that knowledge in motion, or civically engaged learning, creates intensive pathways that reinforce knowledge, creating enhanced learning outcomes. In short, it provides better and deeper educational opportunities for students. Part of a college education must require education that is rooted in society -- even the messiness of it -- not apart from it.
Those of us in position of leadership have a unique challenge. We need to support faculty, provide resources (including “silence and space”), respect governance, and encourage students. But, in the end, we need to lead in this time of great transformation. Each college will need to find its own way. There is no magic, one-size-fits-all bullet to solve the crisis. Using the resources at hand, fostering and nurturing faculty and taking advantage of geography (our space and place in communities) will enable us to move forward.
I am not saying everyone needs to do civic engagement. Surely this is ludicrous, impossible and would have disastrous effects. Rather, I would suggest that in focused and deep ways, colleges develop lasting partnerships within the community. It might mean for one school adopting a school district to improve education for all. Or, for another, researching and developing policy suggestions for environmental impact issues. We have great resources: some of the smartest experts in the nation, an army of eager students who want to apply their research and a world of problems. Through sustained and meaningful partnerships, colleges can have a positive impact on society.
These efforts will tie colleges more visibility into the world they inhabit. By becoming part of the community fabric they will be viewed as a resource rather than a liability or unknown entity. This alone, however, will not solve our crisis. There will need to be a thorough rethinking of how higher education is financed.
Part of the crisis in the liberal arts is of our own making and we need to recognize our role in it. We have retreated into our disciplines, and subdisciplines, speaking to fewer and fewer people about narrower and narrower topics. We deride public intellectuals as sellouts. We have become, in a word, smug. So, rather than model the university as a modern cloistered haven in a heartless world, let’s return to how John Dewey saw it. “Education is not a preparation for life; education is life itself.”
And life should not be lived walled off. By joining the world, combining the classroom and the streets, will we regain our place in the world and better serve our students and teach our students not to be afraid of the world, but to fully inhabit it.
Richard Greenwald is professor of history and social sciences and dean of St. Joseph College in New York City. His forthcoming book is The Death of 9-5: Permanent Freelancers, Empty Offices and the New Way America Works (Bloomsbury).
Submitted by Barry Mills on September 19, 2011 - 3:00am
As we begin this new academic year, I see a set of complex and confusing issues that are potentially and likely transformational in the context of Bowdoin College. Beyond Bowdoin, these forces are likely to be fundamentally disruptive, certainly in the K-12 educational arena and even more likely in higher education, which seeks to educate large numbers of students to be employed in a growing, successful, and just society supported by vibrant U.S. and world economies -- something we all hope to achieve once again. These issues all involve the role of technology in education.
Shortly before I became president of Bowdoin in 2001, our trustees and many others were caught up in the tech boom of the late 1990s. I remember well a trustee retreat in the late 90s that was centered in large part on this very issue. Many trustees shared the then-conventional wisdom that technology would fundamentally change the educational landscape in profound ways. Back then, there were grand predictions about how technology would become a dominant force in the educational landscape. Then came the dot-com bust, as we began the 21st century, and those very same folks significantly discounted the projected impact of technology.
Yet, the impact has been undeniable: e-mail, text messaging, Facebook, Linked-in, Twitter, wireless, iPhones, iPads, Android, Skype, BlackBerry, Blackboard, mobile apps, the Cloud, and on and on. Today, you can use an app to find out what's for lunch at our campus, and one of our professors, Eric Chown, is even teaching a course on building these apps.
I own an iPhone, an iPad, an Apple computer, and an iPod. My son George calls me "Apple Redundant." I think it's fair to say that we actually find ourselves on the brink of that revolution or evolution envisioned in the late '90s, but it happened organically and through innovation, surrounded by less hype and without the market exuberance. At least until recently.
In a Wall Street Journal op-ed last month, Marc Andreessen -- the venture capitalist who co-founded Netscape and has backed Facebook, Groupon, Skype, Twitter, Zynga and Foursquare -- wrote that we are on the verge of a new time, when "software is eating the world." Why? Because as he writes, "six decades into the computer revolution, four decades since the invention of the microprocessor, and two decades into the rise of modern Internet, all the technology required to transform industries through software finally works and can be delivered on a global basis."
As Andreessen tells us, over two billion people now have broadband Internet access, up from 80 million a decade ago. In the next 10 years he expects that 5 billion people worldwide will own a smartphone -- "instant access to the full power of the Internet."
Today, the world's largest bookseller is Amazon. The largest video service: Netflix. The dominant music companies: iTunes, Pandora, and Spotify. And it goes on and on. Just ask the class of 2015 about video games! We are in a moment of change, disruptive change that is altering the landscape, and Andreessen's view is that health care (thankfully) and education are next in line for fundamental software-based transformation.
I connected Andreessen's views with a book I read this summer recommended to me by another brilliant investor. The book -- The Information by James Gleick -- is a history of the way we have thought about and chronicled information over human history. Many years ago -- but not so long ago in human history -- information was transmitted only through the spoken word. The world was fundamentally changed by the invention of the printing press, which allowed us to reproduce facts and information and to make them accessible to many. Today, we live in a society of the web and mobile applications that is equally or perhaps even more transformational. I understand I am conflating years of transformation to make a point, but I think of it this way.
Remember the movie, "Monty Python and the Holy Grail," when the bridge keeper asks Sir Robin to name the capital of Assyria? Well, back then, if you didn't know the answer, the only option was to ask the other guys standing at the bridge before being catapulted into the abyss. Later, one might look it up in an encyclopedia, in an almanac (remember almanacs?), or in a card catalog in the library. Today, Sir Robin would pull out his iPhone and have the answer in a heartbeat, avoiding an untimely demise.
And in a more modern context, I always ask students from far off states how they found their way to Bowdoin. In years past, it was frequently about camp in Maine, a Bowdoin graduate who was their teacher, NESCAC, the Fiske Guide, or the Princeton Review or when Tony Soprano visited Bowdoin. This year, for the first time, the answer -- from more than a few students I met in matriculation -- was Google. And remarkably and importantly, more than a quarter of our applicants are now students we have never seen on campus or who have no contact with us before they apply.
My point is that we are storing, sorting, and filtering information today in ways that are vastly different than we did even 50 or 25 or maybe even 10 years ago.
Now, I am very willing to concede that it is just not the same to do art history research without traveling to a dark archive in France and looking directly at a priceless piece of art. And I am also willing to concede that generations have found it invaluable to walk through the stacks in the library and to locate books and treatises that they didn't even know existed. I understand the power of these experiences and this scholarship, but one must also concede that the transmission and organization of facts and information has changed, and has changed forever.
In the future, we are less likely to be limited by one surprising find in a library, there because a librarian decided to purchase a particular book. Instead, we will be surprised because an algorithm has placed a particular source at the top of our search list on Google, or the next Google. Of course, the future will decide if the process of discovery is as equally rewarding.
And, let me point out that in a world where there is persistent attention on the cost of higher education, the cost of books for our most expensive first-year seminar this year is over $150, and all of those books may be bought online for less than half the cost. Saves money, saves the environment and lightens back strain from the backpack. At this point, online textbooks are a work in progress -- but there are educators and entrepreneurs working today to deliver in the near term a new generation of online textbooks that focus on information, "accessibility, searchability and collaboration." These textbooks will not merely provide information, but provide it in a variety of learning and teaching modes that will make learning more accessible for their readers. One of our faculty colleagues reminds me often that our mission here is not to teach, but to learn. Recognizing that different people, including students, learn in different ways is essential. And, these new advances will allow us to become more effective if we are open and willing.
Where I am headed with all this is that I am convinced that we cannot responsibly ignore the changing dynamics in the way that information is stored and delivered, because these changing dynamics will undoubtedly change our role as educators. The imperative to supply information is being supplanted -- or more likely refocused -- by the availability of the information if sorted and organized responsibly.
The last dot I want to connect is the work of Clayton Christensen, a Harvard Business School professor who has done work throughout his career studying "disruptive change." Christensen studies industries that are convinced that they are serving their clients and customers well, innovating to serve their most important needs. These industries are, in fact, doing so. Until one transformative moment, their clients are willing to pay the high costs of the service or product they deliver. Then, one day, the business is replaced by a lower cost, more effective model, often driven by the power of technology. And the mature, well-conceived, high-quality, high-cost supplier is suddenly an anachronism.
Christensen's examples include PCs displacing mainframes, department stores yielding to Walmart, and Fidelity overtaking conventional investment banks, among others. Not surprisingly, Christensen has focused on technology as the disruptive change agent for education at the K-12 level. Also, given the economics of higher education and the skills required of our workforce, Christensen sees the advent of distance learning as a powerful change agent for higher education.
Christensen's focus in higher education is more directed at institutions that are educating vast numbers of students less than effectively at high cost. His thesis, borne out by current trends, is that the substance of the education these institutions provide will likely be delivered in the future much more through distance learning and possibly through for-profit education that is more cost effective and directed to skills and education that translates into job readiness.
For elite institutions such as Bowdoin, Christensen is more circumspect about disruptive change because the high-quality education provided by these elite colleges and universities -- education that is recognized as opening the doors to select and high paying jobs or academic careers -- will, over the near term, be sustainable despite the high cost because of the return on the investment and the quality of the education. But it will by its very structure be available to a privileged few who have the ability to pay the cost or are supported by institutional endowment.
So, what does all of this mean for Bowdoin and other elite liberal arts colleges? I'll be the first to admit, I don't know. But I am convinced it is worth thinking about. Let me be clear that I believe there will always be a place for the mode and substance of a liberal arts education and the residential life experience that Bowdoin represents. And in a Google and Wikipedia world with a high degree of access to facts and information, there will be a premium on a liberal arts education that helps students learn which facts are worth knowing, what they can rely on, and how to interpret these facts. I believe society will come to value our form of education even more because what we do, at our best, is more than imparting information. We enable our students to develop judgment and perspective using the available facts and information in a manner based on critical judgment and analysis.
College education at Bowdoin is less about merely accumulating facts that are a keystroke away, and more about evaluating the veracity of the information and developing the powers of interpretation and judgment. But given the reliance on talent that our model demands, it will be, by its very nature, the high-cost model of education. That's why we must be excellent, sophisticated, and the very best at imparting the wisdom and judgment our students will need to be important citizens of our country and the world.
Rather than being disruptive to Bowdoin, I am convinced that technology and modes of learning emancipated by technology will have the power, potentially, to incrementally, rather than disruptively, improve our educational model. Take the new student information system as an example. For years, Bowdoin students have registered for courses using paper cards submitted to our registrar. In fact, just this week, 485 first-year students registered in the last two days on paper cards for their courses this semester, and all are ready to go. And members of our faculty have advised students effectively for years, based on course catalogs and paper versions of course availability supplemented by our clunky current system. Our students have done well throughout this time, well advised and finding themselves in the courses they desire.
Now we will spend a few million dollars on a computer software that will allow people to register online and the system will collate and organize more effectively information about our students and our curriculum. The important question is, how will this make us a better college? How will we advise our students better with this technology? I suspect the answer will lie in how we change the way we approach the challenge. Or stated more directly, the technology will not improve our quality unless we utilize the technology to improve our educational and business practices. One cannot justify the expenditure unless we improve the quality of what we do for our students, except, of course, if one is satisfied that this system is better merely because it might take less time and maybe makes us more productive -- neither a goal that inherently suggests good advising. The interesting test case will be to see if technology improves our performance as students and as faculty advisers, a task that I have asked the folks implementing the system to assess over the coming years.
One could imagine innumerable ways that technology and the power to connect with colleagues nationally and internationally could allow us to expand our course offerings, or to become more global. Already, the power to connect is used in meaningful ways by our faculty to collaborate with colleagues in research and scholarship. I suggest that expanding our conception of teaching to incorporate this technology in similar ways will incrementally enhance our educational enterprise. For faculty who seek global connections for our students, there are mechanisms available to bring the global community into our classrooms here in Brunswick, Maine. Is this a perfect solution or an absolute replacement for foreign study? No. But it is quite likely that our students, faculty, and community would benefit from real time, face-to-face interaction with students and faculty in foreign lands.
We are continually and thoughtfully asked by our faculty and students to create new programs at Bowdoin. There is often genuine enthusiasm and good reason to consider the new program, but creating something new at Bowdoin from a standing start, where we might have one or two faculty committed to the concept, is difficult and expensive. Would it be better to build it ourselves in our residential community? Most definitely, yes. But it is also certain that resources over the next period will be limited and the power to connect with colleagues at other places that could create the critical mass for these new programs is worth considering. It is also apparent, at least to me, that there are opportunities to improve the substance and scope of our model of education by providing sophisticated programs and advanced study at the outer edges of certain disciplines where a few students would be interested in study.
How we utilize this technology while preserving the core of our college, the very brand of our college -- the connection between our faculty as teachers and scholars and our students as learners -- will be critical. But we should not turn away from opportunities to expand the sophistication and scope of our program in ways that adds to the depth and strength of our college. Not only because the opportunities might be cost-effective, but because the overall quality of a Bowdoin education will be directly linked with the excellence and sophistication of that program. For, while we are certain that the relationship between our faculty and students is at the core of what we do, that core will not be sustainable if the relationship is not grounded in the most sophisticated educational resource available. If we are not first-rate and intellectually sophisticated, over time we will not attract first-rate, sophisticated faculty or students. Connection and collaboration are crucial, but a sophisticated Bowdoin is fundamental.
Of course, I am sufficiently humble to understand that the musings of a college president do not effect change. Nothing happens at a college or university unless the faculty or some group of faculty decides on their own that there is something to an idea, and takes the initiative. But I think the future is clear, and we will be looking in our rearview mirror if we are not prepared to grapple with these new opportunities.
Finally, and more ambitiously, elite institutions would be well-served to consider more directly the means to impart more broadly and more cost-effectively the sum and substance of what we teach and how we learn to large segments of our society. Technology has the power to be the conductor of this education and to empower masses of people, rather than just a privileged few at these elite institutions. By this, I mean more comprehensive efforts than merely open-source education and free access to lectures.
Elite institutions with the brightest minds and the most ambitious programs would be well served to consider how we flatten the curve to make this quality education available readily to a much broader section of our society. This is a big project, but it is an imperative that elite higher education should take on. For while there is no doubt that elite institutions are doing great work making our form of education available to many who in the past could never gain access, the size of our institutions collectively and the access we create is a small fraction of the demographic that could benefit from the educational opportunity. A vexing task, but one made more possible every day through the innovation of software and technology. It is, in my view, a challenge that elite educational institutions should take on, especially given the demographics of the country and the cost and price implications of our institutions.
As you shift in your seats, let me reemphasize for you that I am confident in the style and substance of what we do at Bowdoin. But I am equally confident that we live in a rapidly changing educational landscape where it is essential that we exist at the highest level of sophistication in order to attract and retain the best faculty and students and support the cost structure of our form of education. To my mind, the transformation of education that we face demands that we have the confidence to explore these new opportunities.
Barry Mills is president of Bowdoin College. This essay is adapted from his convocation talk to new students this fall.
A liberal arts college like mine necessarily has a different sense of its role in relation to its community than does a community college or a research university. I spent the past academic year as an ACE Fellow, learning about public higher education, and one of my biggest adjustments was coming to understanding public higher education’s role in economic development and workforce preparation. The institution to which I was attached, the five-campus University of Massachusetts system, understands its role in its state and region in terms inherited from the Morrill Act of 1862, which established the land-grant colleges and their obligation to train state residents in new techniques of agriculture. The current manifestation of the Morrill Act would seem to be in the university’s commitment to commercial ventures, patents, and intellectual property, helping to start and support new businesses that grow out of research done on campus. In this region, much of the university’s innovation comes in biotechnology.
Community colleges and, to an extent, regional state colleges and universities focus more on workforce preparation. Community colleges are nimble — they can develop programs to meet particular employment needs of their regions quickly and efficiently. New communications tech company opens, and the area doesn’t have trained workers? The local community college starts a program in fiber optics installation (our neighbor Cape Cod Community College recently did this).
Private liberal arts colleges have no Morrill Act and no stated obligation to their regions to prepare workers. We have had the luxury of determining for ourselves the extent to which we connect to our local community and its needs, and colleges vary in their approaches. Some are deeply engaged with local needs, such as Dickinson College, which not only works with area organizations through service learning but also encourages faculty to teach research skills by working with community organizations on projects that would benefit from student research. Other liberal arts colleges are more isolated from the economic and social issues of their surrounding communities, with teaching and learning located strictly on campus.
My year in a state university system made me wonder whether there is an equivalent of tech transfer and business incubation for liberal arts colleges. Not, mind you, that we could do much tech transfer or business incubation – I don’t think we could or should. My question is, what would be the equivalent of those things – in effect on the community, in effect on the campus, and in tying one to the other?
Service learning is not the sole answer, as important as it is. It’s a different category: individual students doing internships at individual agencies. Nor is volunteering – the orientation day of service or the class project at the nursing home. What I’m looking for is the liberal arts college equivalent of the research university concept of innovation: a campus structure that would encourage our students and faculty to challenge themselves to develop new ideas that have implications for the world, and the local communities around them.
To a certain extent, of course, the sciences already do this at liberal arts colleges. Active labs are constantly moving research forward, even if it isn’t funded by industry with an eye toward a future bottom line. The arts, too, are always looking off campus, to a larger audience for music, studio art, dance, drama, and creative writing. But to move beyond seeking audiences and into active involvement in the community, college artists, as well as the rest of us, need active support and encouragement from the institution. What kinds of structures at a liberal arts college would support a model of innovation that would link the campus and its community in ways that would benefit both?
The social contract between the nation and higher education, ideally, means that both parties recognize our mutual obligations. Different sectors of higher education recognize those obligations differently. The central role of workforce preparation for community colleges is clear, and those colleges are repaid with state appropriations and federal funding for student aid (inadequately, I know). That would seem to be the contract in action.
For the research university, state investment seems to pay off handsomely in economic development dollars generated in the state. The state research universities I’ve seen seem to take very seriously their obligations to their states – it’s not as clear to me that the other side of the social contract is being upheld, however, as funding for postsecondary education is seen as discretionary and takes huge cuts all over the country.
So where is the mutual obligation between the private liberal arts college and its community? We at such colleges have largely understood our obligation to be one of preparing educated critical thinkers, ready for graduate study or a career. That obligation works at the individual level, however, student by student. What if we envisioned ourselves as having a campus obligation, a contract with our community in return for the federal student aid our students already receive and for a new level of support from business and civic communities?
Many private colleges that draw their students from all over the country, as well as from other countries, do not see themselves as part of their regions in the way public universities do. “Region” is a less significant concept than it used to be, in an era when strong communities are formed through social networks and work can be done from remote locations. Even so, colleges are in regions, as any college town finance committee will tell you. Colleges’ nonprofit status exempts them from paying property tax, with the understanding that, as with nonprofit hospitals and government buildings, the work that goes on in those tax-exempt properties is work that benefits the community.
Liberal arts colleges should better recognize the obligation of our sector of higher education to the economy and to civic life in general. We may not produce particular kinds of workers for a particular geographical region or produce technology that can be brought to market. And even if we shift our conceptual framework to what Wesleyan President Michael Roth advocates, to seeing a college education as a “platform,” a “capacity builder,” rather than a “product,” we still end up focusing on the individual student.
Instead, let’s reconceive the liberal arts college as an essential and functioning part of a large, working democracy. Our colleges can connect better with other institutions, organizations, companies, and community groups, working to help to solve off-campus problems as well as helping students to understand themselves as members of multiple communities. Organizations such as Campus Compact, which focuses on community service, and Imagining America, which focuses especially on campus work in public arts and humanities, promote these kinds of outreach, but each campus needs to take responsibility for its own place in the social contract.
To make such a shift, we would need first need to find out, from various campus constituencies, what is already going on on campus: Where are we sending our students and why (for internships, for jobs, for study abroad)? Where is our research used? With what community organizations are faculty and staff involved? Once we can identify our constituencies, we could formulate a structured approach to them, one that would enable our campuses to establish firm relationships off campus that would then become part of the campus identity.
Once we see what we’re already doing, we can identify whether it’s what we want to be doing: With what local and national organizations do we feel especially aligned? How much are we working with them? Where would we like our students to intern or to work, and what can we do to get them there? What groups, individuals, intellectual and working communities could be benefiting from the research we are doing on our campuses?
Becoming aware of and then cultivating ties with various off-campus entities can strengthen a liberal arts college as well as strengthening the job prospects for our students. We are not in the business of workforce preparation as community colleges are, nor are we likely to make a big splash with new patents or business incubation as the research universities do. But we need to be in the business of defining our relevance beyond our own walls as we prepare students for life beyond our campuses. Through financial aid and tax exemption, our national, state, and local communities help to make it possible for private colleges to exist. The more we take seriously our obligations beyond our walls, the more clear it will be to skeptics how much higher education, including private higher education, brings to the social contract between the nation and its educational institutions. And the more our students see our campuses as closely engaged with civic life, the better citizens we will produce.
Paula M. Krebs
Paula M. Krebs is special assistant to the president for external relations and professor of English at Wheaton College, in Massachusetts.
For a college president, Michael Schneider of McPherson College spends an awful lot of time talking about horsing around on playground equipment.
It's not because he's immature, though at the age of 37 he is one of the youngest college presidents in the country. It's because "jumping off swings" is Schneider's metaphor for entrepreneurship -- students shouldn't be afraid to take risks, just like they did as children -- an idea he hopes will seep into every corner of McPherson.
Nowadays, many liberal arts colleges promote the economic value of a liberal education. They boast that the impressive careers of liberal arts graduates offer an excellent return on students' tuition investment. Thus, while the cost of a quality liberal education may be high, the economic benefits down the line are greater still.
But while the economic success of liberal arts graduates is certainly worth lauding, we may be missing something more fundamental here. When, as a lawyer-turned-professor, I consider my own liberal education, I can see how it did much more than enhance my career prospects. In fundamental ways, it helped me connect my career aspirations to a meaningful, satisfying life. Looking back over 25 years now, I see how at its best my liberal education offered me increased possibilities not only of money, but significantly, of happiness.
An enduring puzzle of our times is why our well-documented rise in incomes has not led to an increase in our subjective well-being. While well educated Americans are clearly getting wealthier, we are not reporting higher levels of happiness.
Economist Robert Frank offers an intriguing explanation to this puzzle, one that bears on how we think about the value of a liberal arts education. The problem, he says, is not what we make, but how we spend it. "[G]ains in happiness that might have been expected to result from growth in absolute income have not materialized because of the ways in which people in affluent societies have generally spent their incomes."
The difficulty, according to Frank, is that we spend our money in conspicuous ways - such as on bigger houses - that are especially subject to the psychological process of adaptation. Under this process, as people generally buy bigger houses, the social norm for house size increases. Adapting to this rising standard, we need to spend more to get a house we can regard as acceptable. But while we come to spend more for our homes, we do not derive greater pleasure from them. Rather, the size of house that is needed to satisfy us has simply increased. If we wish our growing wealth to help make us happier, says Frank, we need to shift our resources to what he calls "inconspicuous goods." These goods aren’t really goods, but are conditions, like avoiding a long commute or leaving a stressful job. And when our wealth helps us do these things, it does make us happier.
The picture is different for long commutes and stressful jobs because such experiences are less subject to the psychological process of adaptation that occurs with the increasing number of larger houses. "As it turns out," writes Frank, "our capacity to adapt varies considerably across domains." While we easily get used to larger homes, we never completely adjust to longer commutes.
Thus, the key to happier lives is spending more of our resources on inconspicuous goods, those marked by our lesser capacity to adapt. Because increased spending on such goods is more likely to foster our subjective well-being, we are here better able to get our money's worth.
Frank's argument is an intriguing one for me, as at midlife I deepen my understanding of the value of my own liberal education. A central benefit of a liberal arts education is an enhanced capacity for critical thinking, the ability to subject to independent scrutiny the received norms of our environment. It is because of this enhanced capacity to scrutinize social convention that liberal education works to liberate individuals, enabling them to choose freely their own views, rather than simply relying on tradition or authority.
Thus in principle, a liberally educated individual should be less subject to the process of adaptation Frank describes. This is because this adaptation process is rooted in the very social norms the liberal arts graduate has developed the capacity to scrutinize critically.
Because a liberally educated person develops a critical distance from the norms of his environment, he has, under Frank's analysis, a greater potential for happiness. In conspicuous purchases such as houses, he is less likely to need to exceed the norm to insure happiness and more likely to avoid unhappiness if below the norm. Less bound to more conspicuous spending, he also has the freedom to devote more of his resources to the inconspicuous goods that offer a greater contribution to his well-being.
I saw this transformation in myself, while undergoing my own liberal education. I had always been a night owl and fell easily into the rhythms of student life as an English major at Wesleyan University. As my college years progressed, I remember distinctly watching less TV. In classrooms and conversations, I was discovering a world more engaging and enduring than the world of conspicuous consumption then displayed on network television. I still kept my late-night hours, but the “Tonight Show” gave way to the stories of Melville and Kafka, two writers more concerned with understanding human psychology and relationships than acquiring material goods. The result was that, during my senior year, I don't recall ever discussing the size of house I hoped to live in. But I remember distinctly a line I repeated often when asked of my ambitions. I'd say: "Give me a library and the woman I love - and I'll be happy."
As a middle-aged, family man, my life is more complex now, but its underlying values abide. I met - and married - the woman I love. She delights and surprises me almost daily. And in my current academic job, I enjoy access to a first-rate library that satisfies even my overly curious mind. To be sure, I've even come to live in a very nice home, one that's far larger than the national norm. But when my friend tells me he could never move back to a smaller house, I immediately sense a difference between us. I've learned that my happiness depends less on where I live and more on what I treasure.
Vocational training, by definition, is designed to enhance our productive capacities. It equips us with skills for occupations ranging from X-ray technician to software engineer. Liberal education contributes to our productive lives as well, as I know firsthand from my own legal career.
But liberal education can do more. Significantly, it affects not only our skills as producers, but also our discernment as consumers. When it works, it changes for the better the satisfactions we seek. Over the course of a lifetime, a discriminating sensibility in this regard can contribute more to our happiness than the raises our jobs provide.
Of course, liberal education performs this broader role only when it confers more than intellectual insights. A liberal education must reinforce such insights in a way that fosters in students a new set of habits and dispositions. Such an education's intellectual virtues must, in short, become moral ones.
I have no doubt that this has always been a difficult task. Indeed, as a professor teaching today, I see it's becoming harder as an already overly commercialized culture becomes even more so. But I know from my current vantage point how a liberal education succeeded with me in ways my earlier self couldn't have foreseen. More importantly, I see in my classes how students surprise themselves daily with the persons they are becoming.
Thus, in promoting the value of a liberal education to the wider public, we should attend to the way it can change the consumers we become. Altering the satisfactions a person seeks changes his life in ways more profound than the paycheck he receives. For the wider public, this is the story of liberal education that has yet to be told. I suspect we can tell it best by telling our own individual stories, how our liberal educations transformed our lives, and how happiness in an unexpected way became possible.
Jeffrey Nesteruk is a professor at Franklin & Marshall College.